


A Glimmer in the Fog

by emeraldofthenorth



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Demonic Possession, Historical, Immortals, Multi, Vampires, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:36:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9840920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldofthenorth/pseuds/emeraldofthenorth
Summary: Damon Salvatore was made a vampire in 1864. Almost 30 years later, in 1892, he's living in London. He meets Vanessa Ives, a woman who appears simply elegant and restrained at first, but when he sees her again at the society soiree, he witnesses her having a very strange outburst, and he realises there's more to her, hidden under the surface. Some connection to darkness. Damon is drawn to darkness, and from that moment on, he feels he must get to know her.Vanessa Ives badly needs some connection to humanity, something to help her out of the abyss she is being pulled into by the Devil and the nightwalker minions. When she meets a handsome stranger, she feels like he could be the one to save her. But is he too close to the creatures of the Shadow-world, that she is trying so desperately to escape?





	

Damon was looking into the full-length mirror in his bedroom, adjusting his silk tie, when he let out a sigh. He wished he could foresee whether going to this high society party would actually be worth it, because all the previous times he found himself going to a party in the mansion of some lord or lady, he found the festivities lackluster. Of course, there was no shortage of pretty girls that approached him, hoping to dance with him, but he found these girls insipid after just a few minutes of conversation. English girls were all about embellishment - of their appearances, of their own accomplishments - he had not met any yet that seemed to have something genuine to talk about. He had met many interesting men in London, though, including Dorian Gray, the social butterfly who took Damon to all these parties. He had met Dorian only a few weeks after he moved to London two years ago, and they had instantly taken a liking to each other. They had met in a questionable entertainment club south of the Thames, and Dorian had taken Damon home with him. They became good friends quickly after realising they shared similar tastes in nightlife. Dorian had helped Damon find fine lodgings, in a mansion near Hyde Park, and had convinced him to break in his new flat with a housewarming party, stocked with guests from Dorian's vast acquaintance.  
Damon thought back through this first party he'd enjoyed in the company of Dorian, and the many other parties and balls since. He thought with fondness of Dorian's talents in knowing people, their secrets, and their desires, and how he had told Damon about his mental library of the naughty deeds of the upper class London set. Damon smiled and paced gently back and forth in front of his dressing table as he made more preparations for his formal evening wear. He reflected back on the night that Dorian had made seductive advances towards him as they lounged in Dorian's huge drawing room, drinking vast amounts of absinthe. Damon had let it go on for a while, snogging his hedonistic best friend with abandon before he thought it wise to warn Dorian that he wouldn't ever think of him as more than a friend. Dorian seemed disappointed, but was as affable as ever when they met up the next day. Damon supposed he recovered fairly quickly from affairs of the heart, and he was surprised to him when Dorian revealed the reason, and his deepest, darkest secret, several weeks later. Dorian said he trusted Damon to keep the secret of his immortality, because he realised how similar they really were when he observed Damon draining the blood from a girl in his house late at night. They shared everything after that, the secrets of their past and of their present, and when the pleasures of the London underworld periodically turned sour in their mouths, they shared their fears of never finding a true love that could last.

Damon snapped out of his reverie when he ran out of parts of his outfit to adjust and fidget with, and he blew out the candles in his room stepped into the hallway. He put on his black coat and white scarf, winked at himself in the hall mirror, and walked out into the night of possibility.

*

The same evening, Vanessa was sitting in her bedroom in front of a vanity, arranging her hair. Vanessa had been enjoying a relatively calm and peaceful day, in which she'd walked to the park and bumped into her interesting acquaintance Dorian Gray. They had chatted for about half an hour, and near the end of the conversation, they had discovered they'd both be attending the soiree of the stuffy-sounding Lady Marchmont. Dorian conveyed his delight that Vanessa would be there, and she agreed to be introduced to a few of Dorian's friends.  
Vanessa certainly thought he was an intriguing person, and although she wasn't exactly attracted to him, she thought it worthwhile to get to know him better. She thought he probably thought the same about her, too, because she got the sense that if he had wanted to seduce her, he would have made advances the first time they met.  
Vanessa smoothed her hair into the coiled, braided arrangement that she wore it in for formal occasions, and dotted a little rouge onto her lips. She was satisfied with the dark jewel-green dress she had chosen, and she emphasised her neck with a black choker. She finished up and got ready to set out, thinking how silent the dark forces that sometimes fought for control inside her had been today. She hoped that this was not a quiet period before a storm, and that her demons could stay quiet for the duration of this grand party. Vanessa saw herself looking grim in the mirror, and she tried to put a calm, neutral expression onto her face. Good enough, she thought, nodding to herself. Vanessa left her house and stepped into a carriage, attempting to keep the stirring waters of her mind in a placid state.

*

Damon followed Dorian through the front door of Lady Marchmont's massive townhouse, a wry smile on his face: Dorian had chatted through the doorway with the hostess until she had called out a verbal invitation for them to enter the house. Dorian's smooth talking skills helped him get through his vampire issues even better than he could alone, since he still stuck out as an American in London. Dorian could work his way into any level of society, he knew the intricacies of the etiquette, and Damon had learnt a lot from him about insinuating himself into social situations.  
Damon and Dorian handed away their coats in the hall, exchanged greetings with the people hovering around the entrance, and then made their way into the reception rooms that were filled with people. They waded through crowds into the library, which contained several groups of people standing around and talking. Damon made a beeline for the drinks table, and returned to Dorian with a couple glasses of a bright yellow liqueur. Damon took a swig and found the lemony taste surprisingly strong and pleasant. Ah, the English and their fancy French liqueurs, he thought, shaking his head to slightly. Well, some day decades from now he'd get back to American whiskey. He had a whole eternal life to live, and he had wanted to experience new places and new people.  
Dorian was flirting with a frilly-looking girl, and Damon resigned himself to leaning back against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and observing the others in the room. A couple minutes later, a striking woman in a green dress walked in. Damon watched her slowly make her way to the far end of the room, where he and Dorian were standing; she walked with her head held high, and her eyes scanned the room subtly. She caught sight of Dorian, and Damon glimpsed the recognition in her eyes. She approached their group, and as Dorian saw her come up, he made his excuses to the silly girl he had been talking to, and the girl left. Dorian said hello to the striking woman, and took her hand and kissed it, bowing. When he straightened up, he turned to Damon.

  
"Damon, this is Miss Vanessa Ives," Dorian said. "Miss Ives, this is my good friend Damon Salvatore."

  
"Miss Ives, it is a pleasure to meet you," Damon said, and he bowed. "Dorian has not mentioned you, but then, he knows so many people."

  
"Ah, quite," said Vanessa, giving a wry smile. "And I suppose you're American, Mr Salvatore? How did you come to be in London?"

  
"Yes, I'm from America," Damon responded, "and you'll find me just as uncivilised as you might expect. I came to London because... well, it's the greatest city in the world right now, the centre of the empire. I thought I should acquire some culture and educate myself a little more."

  
"Damon, darling, don't hold yourself under any illusions," Dorian said. "You abandoned your cultural education a year ago. You know damn well your main activity of the past year has been indulging in worldly pleasures."

  
"Ah, fine, I admit it Dorian," Damon replied, "As you always say, 'Beauty! Delights! Physical pleasure! These are the only things worth living for!' I grudgingly admit that I have been converted into a disciple of Dorian's philosophy of life, Miss Ives."

  
"Well, Dorian's philosophy certainly sounds an intriguing one," Vanessa said, raising an eyebrow.

The three of them continued to exchange pleasantries, but Damon eventually stopped paying attention to what Dorian was saying to Vanessa. He was absorbed in looking at her, and noticing how unusual she was. She was definitely beautiful, but in a very unique way. Her skin was so pale he thought it almost made her look like a witch, as it contrasted with her black hair. He looked at the coils of hair perched on top of her head elegantly, and the swoop of the back of her neck below looked delicate, but not fragile. He watched her blue-grey eyes, and her expression, that seemed controlled. She was very poised, and Damon couldn't tell if there was more beneath the surface - she hid her thoughts and emotions from her face. That in itself was mysterious. Well, he thought with an inward sigh - she would just have to remain slightly enigmatic. He couldn't attack her and turn her into an oblivious blood-bag if Dorian was interested in her, or friends with her. Damon didn't want to make the effort to get to know her, either, because he didn't want to drag any of these repressed society people into his metaphorical den of vampiric activities, and have them make a fuss. He and Dorian got enough thrills in the London underworld as it was, and he could easily go find a willing enough prostitute to drink from if he wanted to drink. So... this Miss Ives did not fit into any of the categories of people that he had any reason to be involved with. Yet he thought he saw a glint of something more than civility behind her eyes, something like a glimmer of wildness. He couldn't be sure. Ah well, he would just have to try to enjoy himself at this soirée as best he could.


End file.
